The Vatican’s Recent Proclamation

I feel a quick word is needed on the recent proclamation put out by the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith regarding questions to the true meaning of the Vatican II document LUMEN GENTIUM . The media, along with other Christian denominations, have been quick to lambast the Catholic Church for the perceived self-righteousness of this document, for it does indeed declare that the Catholic Church is the one “true” church.

While I am admittedly frustrated with Cardinal Levada and the Holy Father’s choice to release this document at this time, particularly when ecumenism is so fragile, I would encourage you to read The Document Itself , rather than trusting the twisted reports the media is putting on it. While it does indeed address “defects” in the schismatic church, the document reaffirms the words of the council, that these churches “are deprived neither of significance nor importance in the mystery of salvation. In fact the Spirit of Christ has not refrained from using them as instruments of salvation, whose value derives from that fullness of grace and of truth.” (Unitatis Redintegratio, 3.4) This is a far more open minded view-point than most Protestant denominations have of Catholicism.

Thus, be encouraged to continue with every effort for ecumenical dialogue and prayer amongst Christians, knowing that the Vatican does support such efforts. There is, however, much more work to be done on both sides.

A God of Love or a God of Wrath

This is the first in a two part exploration into Dante, and the true character of God.

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God is love. All of creation stands as evidence of God’s love. Yet it is surprisingly difficult for us to believe in a Creator who is none other than love itself. Rather, we have been fed an image of a vengeful God, more eager to remind us of our failures than our goodness. But love does not behave that way. Love always encourages, forgives, and energizes the beloved.

How did we come to believe in this God of wrath? More importantly, what is God really like?

I recently journeyed to Rome and was struck by an astounding contrast between two images of Jesus, rendered by the same artist, Michelangelo. These pieces illustrate the dichotomy between the God of wrath and the God who is Love.

Across the front interior wall of the Sistine Chapel is spread the vibrantly colored, action packed painting of “The Last Judgement.” Here a muscular Jesus, flanked by his mother Mary, stands with arm upraised, separating the dead souls, half of them being carried up to heaven, and the rest cast down to hell. To the right, men (and they are all men; besides Mary there are only a handful of female figures in the painting) line up for their turn before the judge, all desirous, all fearful, and they seem not to have any idea what their impending verdict will be. Jesus and Mary wear emotionless faces as some people are spared and the rest eternally damned. The imagery in the lower half of the painting is cruel and grotesque, complete with angels punching the unwilling souls into the waiting arms of demons, and Phlegyas in his boat, bearing the lost souls across the dark river Styx.

Minutes later I entered the Basilica San Pietro and beheld the sculpture called the “Pieta,” Michelangelo’s sublimest work. Here a contemplative Mary holds the lifeless frame of Jesus, limp, weak, his body thinned by the cruel death he underwent. This Madonna, by contrast, has a face full of emotion—sorrow, complacency, love, and the pity for which the work is named. Jesus, in contrast with the painting, is a thin man, his legs and arms showing none of the girth seen in the prior Jesus. His stomach is indrawn from hunger and dehydration, his ribs exposed. This is not the body of a fallen warrior, but of one who was taken and killed by stronger men than he.

I cannot help but see sacred art as theology, and there is a huge theological contrast between the Jesus of the “Pieta” and the Jesus of “The Last Judgement.” The dead frame shows the Jesus who took on the despair of the world, loving the least of creation with his own acceptance of a lowly death. Yet the muscle-bound Justice of “The Last Judgement” is a figure of wrath, casting the lowest of creation into eternal perdition.

The theology of one artist may be interesting to analyze, but Michelangelo’s theology has had much more far reaching effects. It amazes me how much the theology depicted in the wall, and the ceiling of the Sistine chapel continues to influence our view of our Creator, and our perspective on the afterlife.

The theology is not Michelangelo’s. This image, and indeed most sacred Renaissance art reflects the theology of his fellow Florentine of two centuries before—Dante Alighieri. Seven hundred years have passed since The Divine Comedy was published, yet it still colors our concept of the Christian religion today.

In this graphic tale, Dante, using himself as narrator, journeys through all the circles of hell and purgatory with Virgil as his guide. All manor of torment is described, particularly for those who were the author’s political rivals. The pilgrims are immersed in a dark realm, accosted by demons and lost souls on every side. Dante is constantly in fear, but the steadfast Virgil comforts him with his confidence and by addressing the demons with authority. The suffering of the shades is horrendous and grotesque, the punishment not of a merciful judge, but of a masochistic ruler who employs a twisted knowledge of suffering to enact his revenge.

Is it the masochism of Satan that assigns this terror? Not in the picture drawn by Dante. Satan is simply God’s pawn. It is God’s anger that drives the sinners into Satan’s net. God’s justice is satisfied to be rid of the damned and this God feels no regret. Where is love in this scenario? Who is this lover who forsakes the beloved? “I opened to my beloved but my beloved had turned and was gone. I sought him, but did not find him; I called him but he gave no answer.”(Song of Solomon 5:6)

The Divine Comedy is one of the most celebrated books within the Catholic tradition, and much of its theology, especially from the last half, gives a beautiful image of a soul striving for the divine. But the imagery of inferno and early purgatory is gruesome and vengeful. It is this imagery that has abided over the centuries. It was obviously written as an allegory, never intended to be viewed as a literal description of hell. Yet the details are unimportant. The spirit of this work has significantly and negatively colored the Christian view of our Creator.

There are some particularly disturbing encounters made by the two travelers as they sojourn the underworld. There are the souls of good Christians who died in battle without being administered last rights. (Prg. V) For no other wrong they are condemned to eons in purgatory before being admitted to paradise. In hell they pass through “limbo” where dwell worthy souls who were not baptized, either because of infant death or because they lived before the age of Christianity. “These of sin were blameless: and if aught they merited, it profits not, since baptism was not theirs: the portal to thy faith…” (Inf. IV) Further on in hell Dante converses with Francesca, who with her lover is condemned to eternal hell because their love for one another distracted them from their love for God. (Inf. V) Even in heaven, the narrator meets the soul of a nun who was raped. She is consigned to the lowest level of heaven because her vow of chastity was broken, even though by no fault of her own. (Par. IV)

To believe that humans would be thus punished because their deaths were sudden with no opportunity for last rights or baptism depicts a God reduced to the size and restrictions of his own rules. Where is mercy in this scenario? What reason is there for such a damnation? How terrible it would be for a Creator to turn its back on its creation for a failure in a rule when there was no chance to obey. What baby chooses to die before baptism? What soldier chooses to be slain? What person chooses to succumb to a catastrophe when no priest happens to be near? Does the soul deserve to suffer for such circumstances? What woman, whether or not she has taken a vow of chastity, deserves a reduced blessing for being raped?

Virgil, the ancient Roman poet who serves as the allegorical guide, confesses that he is amongst the souls in limbo. Despite his good soul he is condemned to this place in hell. He is trusted to shepherd the character of Dante through the abyss, but he disappears as soon as they reach the gate of heaven, for he is allowed no further, and never will be.

Francesca and her lover, in their love for one another, supposedly deprioritize love for God. What is love for God but love for one another? When can love be wrong? This is a twisted view of God, and a twisted view of love.

Interestingly, Dante identifies love as the guiding theme both in the grace of heaven, and in the punishment of hell. In Virgil’s soliloquy at the central point of the work, he makes the case that it is through loving things of the world, or themselves too much, that the souls in hell are forced to suffer. Their punishments are ordered based on this corrupted love. There is a confusion here between love and lust. True love is gift. What is identified as love for self and love for sin, is actually lust.

The souls in hell are described as penitent, longing for the love God can give to spare them from their self lust. If God is love, then the Divine Comedy is a story of a God who lost the celestial war. The beloved is cast into a pit of suffering. The fallen angels, Lucifer in particular, are masters of their realm, drunk on the suffering they inflict. What type of punishment is this for the demons who turned all humanity away from God? They are tasting eternal success? Why would God allow Lucifer such satisfaction in his power? Why must Francesca suffer more pain than Lucifer? The whole picture does not make sense. Lucifer has won! This is a God who has lost the power to do good in all places. This God lacks either the power or the will to reach out a hand to rescue the beloved.

The God of Dante is a God whose need for justice outweighs love and mercy. This God no longer cares about the souls in hell. They were placed there because of specific rules and transgressed laws, and there is no looking back. For this God, rules are more important than morality and love. If one broke the rules for whatever reason, or lacks a proper conversion experience and baptism, damnation is certain. And once the soul is damned, God leaves the equation. Once Lucifer and the fallen demons are out of God’s sight, they are out of mind, free to inflict any suffering on others they may wish, even if those souls are guilty of lesser evils.

You may be thinking this is an archaic view of God and saying “I don’t view God that way.” But have any of us really left it behind? Don’t you still picture hell as some sort of fiery pit, where sinners work like slaves before the whips of grotesque demons? Logically, you don’t, but doesn’t your brain still conjure up this image?

We were made because of love, and it is our free will to reciprocate our Creator’s love that makes us the beloved of God. What would be the point of this life if the rules change in the next? No, God’s reward is our willingly reciprocated love, out of free will. Heaven is the culmination of our lifelong pursuit of beauty and love. There will be no obligation in our praise—how could we refuse it, being finally in the presence of perfect beauty and perfect love? By contrast, hell is the chosen rejection of love.

But we have been taught a God of rules and wrath instead of a God of love. Christians are far quicker to judge error than to laud goodness. Just like Dante, we pass judgement on those we consider sinners, never with any doubt that God is doing the same. Dare we consider that mercy may be greater than judgement?

We should embrace a love-theology rather than a fear-theology. The songs in heaven will be sung out of the joy of the beloved to be in the presence of the Lover. Beholding the beauty of life’s gifts, our desire to please God will come from pure gratitude, not because of fear or obligation. Fear begets obedience only until the moment of rebellion.

Grown out of the disturbing view of God, where wrath trumps love, comes a faulty notion of Jesus’ role which propagated in the middle-ages and was key in fear-theology. Jesus is seen as a mediator between us and a vengeful God. It is as if Jesus convinces God to tip his emotional balance from anger to love. John Milton described Jesus begging God to forgive humanity after the first sin. “Bend thine ear to supplication; hear his sighs… let him live before thee reconciled… and for these my death shall pay..” (Paradise Lost, XI) God gives in to Jesus’ intercession. God is not love, Jesus is love.

To a God of love, if the afterlife really were the way Dante and Milton describe it, God would not be in heaven accepting the love of an obedient creation. God would be weeping in eternal pity for the beloved’s suffering. How God would grieve to know that his repentant beloved (as the souls in hell are described in Dante’s Inferno) suffered! In Dante’s hell, the souls long for forgiveness and grieve because of their separation from God. Could the Lover listen unmoved to the beloved’s cry of regret? God would be wandering the seven circles of Dante’s hell, desperately trying to free the victims and take them to a better place. Love would have no blind eye toward suffering.

Hell, rather, is a chosen rejection of love, not a place designed for punishment. If a soul chooses selfishness over love, hell will be their fate. If a soul wishes to be with God’s love, and demonstrates it by exercising love, Divine Love will not reject that wish. Yes, hell is a place of suffering, but it is a chosen suffering, because to be embraced by love, self must be sacrificed.

God cannot reach into hell to save the damned because hell is the absence of love, and there, God cannot go. Nor can a soul in hell ever be repentant, for hell’s darkness is eternal selfishness. When in such a state, there is no desire for change. Purgatory is the journey away from self, toward love. In the end, if we are to experience purgatory or hell, we will discover that it was our own choice that put us there. I do not only mean metaphorically, but that we will be actively choosing to be there by rejecting love.

Will the Last Judgement be the Dies Irae (day of wrath), or a day of Pieta (pity)? If God is love, then ours will be a judgement where God wants to pardon us, wants us in heaven. But we must embrace the gift, at the expense of our own ego. If we are unwilling to do that, then we choose hell, the despair of lost love, and God weeps for us. The suffering of hell is that of the mind and heart which has rejected love, and we get there by closing off love. Fear this hell! Fear it with every ounce of dread Dante stirs, for such suf-fering, such coldness of a complete void of love is far worse than burning and gnashing of teeth!

Heaven is the living experience of perfected beauty and perfected love. It is the fulfillment of our insatiable longing for beauty. There, our desires will be satisfied. The lesson Jesus teaches is that we must give up our selfishness in order to gain this reward. It is not such a strange command, since we all know that true love requires sacrificing our own desires to the desires of the beloved.

The most comforting thing is that God wants us with him in heaven and will do everything we allow to make it happen. God does not want us to suffer the pains of hell, and God is willing to do something about it! God is not aloof and distant, but challenges us to accept love every moment of every day. We make the mistake of viewing God as so big and powerful that he is beyond our sight and comprehension. But God is so big and powerful that he is present in the smallest of things, not only able but willing to walk with us at every moment.

Virgil, who guides the narrator through the darkest shadows, is the closest depiction of God in all of the Divine Comedy. But God is our Virgil, the hero with us on our journey.

In Christianity we have created a series of intercessors. Jesus is the first. We picture him, as in the Miltonian conversation, swaying God’s heart toward us. God is too distant for our imag-ination. Jesus is more accessible to our hearts. Viewing God as our personal hero is an utterly foreign idea to us. We rely on figures like Virgil to be our heroes. Yet even Jesus has become too distant, so we rely on more intercessors, such as Mary, and the Saints. We ask them to intercede for us. We even invoke personalities such as guardian angels to be our protectors, taking the personal role we cannot concede to God. It is too difficult for us to imagine God, to care enough to worry about our lowly lives. Why don’t we take away the barriers? God is close enough. God is our guide. The Saints can be beseeched to pray for us, just as we would ask our brothers and sisters to pray for us. But God is also here with us every minute. We are God’s beloved. God does not send others to mediate on our journey.

God appears to us every day, sometimes in the most unexpected ways. God does not leave the job of companionship to others. If we could only open our minds and hearts to God’s true nature we would see him with us every step of the way.

How does God prove this love? By not only walking with us, but by becoming one of us. In the beginning of Dante’s inferno, the heroic Virgil seeks out the narrator to lead him through the pits of hell. God did the same thing. As God incarnate, Jesus seeks us in our lowest moments, sharing in our suffering for the chance to lead us through. Jesus is our Virgil, come to us in our need to provide the guiding hand up from inferno.

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Part Two: Jesus — Our Virgil

The Problem of “Sum”

Why is there something rather than nothing?

Ever since humankind has been capable of inquiry, we have asked why we are here, where did we come from, what does it mean, and who (if anyone) put us here. Many opinions and arguments have attempted to answer these questions, some with more success than others. Science has managed to shed marvelous light on the history of our existence, both as a species, and as a universe. But every explanation stops short of answering the most baffling question of all: Why is there something rather than nothing?

We ARE. The universe IS. Whether or not it was created does not lessen the marvel of BEING. The Latin of this verb is Sum, and it is the most remarkable fact of existence.

Science has managed to awaken our understanding to many of the deepest mysteries of our existence. Very little remains, the how of which science cannot explain. It can explain how our bodies are composed to the finest detail, how our world evolved to support life and presently moves through the cosmos. It can even explain how at a moment roughly sixteen billion years ago, space, time and matter all began with a big bang. Science can beautifully explain how our world works. But the why still remains. Why are our bodies ordered as they are, why did our world evolve to support life, and move so perfectly through the cosmos, and why did a big bang send forth all of matter in an elegantly unfurling system of spacetime? In short, why is there anything to be explained at all? The most amazing fact of existence is simply that there is something rather than nothing.

Some have said that it is the fact that we can reason, which allows an existence to be observed. There may be countless possibilities for existences and non-existences, and the fact that we are in the one in a billion that allows one to ask the question should not surprise us. This mode of thinking is called the anthropic principle. But the question can always be extended. If there are countless possibilities for other universes or non-universes, whether or not they support thinking life, they are still a something which must be reconciled to our original question.

Descartes said, “Cogito ergo sum” (I think, therefore I am). The Sum surprised him, not the Cogito. There is no greater marvel than simply Sum: the To Be of life. All the complexities and beauty that go into what I am and what this universe is pale beside the simple face that I Am! This is the most basic question of existence.

Every life is necessitated by a prior life. Sum begets Sum. Nothing can make the claim of Sum without owing it to another. Nothing can say “I am” without acknowledging their parent. Even as scientists find success in cloning, the clone owes its Sum to the parent DNA and the facilitating scientist. In every case if we trace life back we will find that it was given. There must be an original I Am, before any living creature can say, “I am.”

This last paragraph of course brings up some touchy questions. Doesn’t Darwinian evolution disprove this archaic notion? Well, contrary to a wide misconception, Darwin never proposed that a living being could arise without a parent, only that a living being could be born from a different type of living parent. (For more on this point, I would recommend reading the final chapter of Darwin’s “The Origin of Species,” when he discusses the potential further scientific development of his theory.) Anything beyond that rests in the realm of theory, not scientific law. In all the time since, science still has not shed light on this question.

But this does bring up the acute disconnect between science and faith such as I discussed in The Nature of Truth . People on both sides of the spectrum feel the two are completely incompatible. As scientists delve deeper into the workings of the universe, they point to the new discoveries as evidence that we are getting closer to explaining away the need for a Creator, while the Christian world rejects each discovery without even reviewing the evidence. I prefer to examine science as the description of the tools with which God works. Science is the language of God. The more layers of science we uncover, the more we learn about the complexity and marvel of creation. On the flip side, we spend so much time analyzing the book of science that we forget to ask who wrote it. And the further we get, we still fail to answer the question of Sum. Why is there something rather than nothing?

Yet even once we accept this fact, for if we are to live any sort of life at all, we must accept that we are, we come against another question, nearly as baffling based simply on the laws of science: Why is it good?

The world is beautiful. We see beauty everywhere—not only in the glories of nature and the cosmos, but in each one of us, with the beating hearts, breathing lungs and working systems of our bodies. We have come to take beauty for granted. The beauty of the world has been there for as long as we can remember. Our bodies are supposed to work, so it does not surprise us that they do. But the very functionality of nature and our bodies are incredible. And if that was not enough, they are also beautiful! Could the human body work just as well without its beauty? Would the world still turn if it was hideous?

Beauty is not only in the appearance of things. Beauty is also manifested in the functionality of things, particularly our bodies. Think of all we can do: that we can see and hear and feel. That that very eye which beholds beauty, operates with an astounding and efficient complexity. From our largest organs down to our smallest cells, the functioning of our bodies is brilliantly ordered and beautiful. Why did existence develop not into something both which functions, and is beautiful?

In the human condition, why is there also something we call pleasure? Survival is enough for most species. Would food nourish us less if it gave no pleasure? Would we be less capable of reproduction if human sexuality did not give the beauty and pleasure we experience in it? In plants and most animals, nourishment and reproduction give no pleasure. The tree gains no pleasure from its photosynthesis. By all logic, and the rules of evolution, our methods should be equally mundane All the needs of survival could have been ordered without pleasure. But they weren’t. This should shock us.

Consider the companionship and love—the community—of the human condition. Our fellowship with one another, in all the forms it takes, is one of the most beautiful of all the gifts existence has given us. To be loved and love in return is the most beautiful experience of life. It is also profoundly good. While much of the world’s beauty can be held selfishly, its wonder corrupted by envy and lust, love is always good. Love causes us to see all of existence as something good. In marveling at beauty and goodness, what we are actually doing is marveling at love. Love is the greatest beauty and the greatest goodness we can know. The world developed and evolved with love written into its makeup—a love which causes it to be beautiful, causes it to give pleasure, allows for companionship, and in a word, is good.

And so we must add to the question of sum—why is there any existence at all?—the question: why is there love?

By asking the second question, we answer the first.

God is love. Love is contained in all things, existing and potential. That there is love necessitates that there is something to love. That something which must be loved, is our existence, our sum. Understanding that God is love makes it necessary for God to create. God is that which must create, and will love that creation. In the beginning, love was so great that creation burst out. It had to. The potential from which existence was actualized was so pregnant with love that it had to be born. If there is love, then there must be existence. Out of a state called nothing, love was the potential which had to become something. Love has no choice but to create and give, and shower blessings onto the existence it birthed.

Art: The Most Beautiful Prayer

In The Gift of Beauty, I delved into the tireless human quest for the beautiful.

Much as this insatiable longing often brings us despair, it can also arouse the highest achievements of human creativity and passion. Art is the directed manifestation of the human longing for Divine Beauty and Love. The one who beholds the completed painting, or hears the finished piece of music may find them beautiful. But the finished product is the result of the artist’s tiresome quest. In the medium of art, the composer hopes to get closer to the beauty which s/he seeks. The desire to create art is born of the same longing as the one who seeks to hoard beauty through possessions and experience. But while the latter slowly kills the beauty by containing it, the artist expands the beautiful by giving it wings. The artist takes the beauty which they alone can see, and presents it in such a way that others can appreciate it.

Art renders reality more beautiful than it first appeared. Through art we become privileged to experience reality in a whole new way. The great landscape paintings of an artist like Douglas Carpenter give a whole new appreciation to the reality we seldom take the time to notice. You may cross a creek a hundred times without stopping to notice its beauty. But after reading Tennyson’s poem of “The Brook” and you will never look at the modest creek the same way. Mendelssohn permits me, who has never traveled to the Hebrides Islands of Scotland, to see them as I never would, by brilliantly painting the turbulent waves, tide-smoothed boulders and dangerous crags through the instruments of the orchestra. These artists expressed their longing through oil and canvas, pen and paper, or instrument and baton. Their insatiable quest for beauty may not be satisfied by their labor, but their gift brings the rest of us much closer to the Divine.

It is as much the quest for beauty as the hope of finding it that inspires us. For this reason the work of the painter, poet or composer gives them as much satisfaction as they can expect. They are blest with the gift of seeing the world with eyes most of us lack.

The search for beauty which we wrongly pursue in carnal pleasures is our hope of transcending the life which never quite fulfills our longing. It is no enigma that the one who tastes few of life’s blessings and the one who seems to have it all experience the same longing. Surely, the one who seems to have gained all the world usually knows a greater discontent than the poor, for that one has learned how little life’s pleasures can satisfy the heart’s longing. The longing for our Creating Love cannot be satiated with any beauties or pleasures of this life. Even what we think of as perfected human love very often leads to despair. Just as in our fruitless attempts to possess beauty, we too often attempt to own and contain human love, and by so doing, take it out of the realm of the divine and make it something only of this life, and thus, gradually diminish and extinguish it.

In art we come closer than through any other means to transcend the limits our world has placed on beauty. Rather than crippling beauty, art gives beauty new reach, while taking nothing away. Carpenter takes nothing from the meadow by painting it, yet gives it as a gift to so many. Likewise the shore of Hebrides only gains by Mendelssohn’s notes. Through poetry Tennyson’s brook can truly claim that men may come and men may go, but I go on forever!

Sculptors such as Alexandros of Antioch and Michelangelo celebrated the beauty of the human body with an incredible transcendence with their Venus de Milo and David, respectively. While today the naked human body is most often presented in an overtly sexual light, these marble nudes stand as testaments to the goodness, purity and natural beauty of the human form. Theirs is the strength, gentleness, confidence, and natural sensuality of humanity, given as the gift of the artist.

The novelist or playwrite makes a glory of human love in ways which seldom manifest in reality. The beauty and wonder of the human relationship, along with its jealousy and despair is expressed through the dramatic artists. We enjoy being swept up in drama, for somehow it seems to accentuate our own lives and relationships.

Art is a celebration of beauty. The artist reflects beauty in their medium and then shines it out for others to see. It does not capture the beauty, which is fruitless to attempt, but it acts as the prism which takes none of beauty’s light while reflecting it out in dozens of directions. By praising beauty, art shares it with many, some of whom would never be able to appreciate it on their own. Art is the most beautiful of prayers. It is truly a prayer of thanksgiving for the beauty which inspires the artist.

In art we are sometimes able to rise out of our menial toils and our fruitless quests. If I close my eyes and let music infiltrate my head and heart, my senses seem to expand. There is a feeling distinctly physical, yet which cannot be described by the five senses of the body. By staring into a painting my imagination runs free. The depth in the canvas removes me from time and place, yet simultaneously enhances the time and place in which I stand. The lyrical words of the writer deepens my emotions as I read. The majesty of the sculpture inspires me to reach for the model of humanity perfected in the stone. Art allows us not only to possess beauty, but to access emotions to which we would not have otherwise been privileged.

The power of art is unrivaled in its ability to stir humanity. That is why throughout history art, especially dramatic art, has been prey to censorship. From Roman times, through the Communist regimes of the Twentieth century, artists have been suppressed and even killed for their work, for no other medium can so influence the thought of the populous, stir public sentiment and shape political ideals. Nineteenth century opera composers Wagner and Verdi were in danger, and in Wagner’s case exile, for much of their artistic careers for their involvement in German and Italian unification movements. Stravinsky’s ballet, “The Rite of Spring” caused major disruption in Paris in 1913, for the music presented rhythms people had never heard, and it violently disturbed them.

By inspiring, art can move and shape the human mind. It is a powerful tool. But more importantly, art is a gift. The artist shares their inspiration–their personal experience of beauty, with others. Isn’t this what we have come to know as love? For only by giving, can we open ourselves to receive. By giving love, we can know love ourselves. By giving art the artist experiences beauty in a much more personal way. All the beauty of the world is a gift from the God of love which created us. The artist follows this example by giving away something they have created. Both the artist and those who appreciate art experience the love of this relationship.

Through all our searching to fulfill our longing for beauty, the only ways we find contentment are through seeking our Creator—offering our love to Creating Love through goodness and compassion to those around us, and through art. Art is indeed our hand reaching toward heaven, and being given this beauty in return.

When I stand in the Cathedral and sing Mozart, surrounded by orchestra and choir, I know this music is not the work simply of a human mind, even one as ingenious as Mozart’s. This music is a gift from the divine, in the same way that the majesty of our very world is a gift.

I can plant a shoot of rose, full of knowledge how to make it grow. With greater knowledge I can even hybridize the plant, altering it sufficiently to change and predict exactly what type of flower I will produce. But when the rose blooms, I may be a proud gardener, but I did not really create the rose. Similarly, while Mozart toiled long hours imagining the notes of his masterpieces, plunking them out on his keyboard, arranging melodies, harmonies and rhythms until it comes finally to the point when I, the humble chorister, sings “Kyrie Eleison,” Mozart can only take partial credit for the music, just as the gardener can only claim partial credit for the rose. The same Creator who made the shoot, soil, water and air by which the rose grows, also made notes, chords, rhythms and all the components by which music, or any art, is made! Mozart can only take credit for planting and tending well the musical seeds God gave. Thus, when I experience music that seems heavenly, It truly is heavenly! This is a gift God gives to sustain us in our tireless quest for his love.

We see art’s beauty, its transcendent nature, its ability to shape and change human thought, even human history, and greatest of all, its nature as a gift of love from the artist to the observer.

But art also has a dark side. Rather than giving beauty transcendence, some art elevates despair! The artist’s heartache, hatred and horror manifest in their work, and instead of sharing with others the gift of beauty and hope, they share these grim gifts. Edvard Munsch’s painting brings to visible, disturbing light the horror of a scream. Emily Brontë’s poems and novels detail the despair of a hopeless heart. Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” as well as Shakespeare’s “MacBeth” show the heart and soul of a murderer with familiarity most of us never could have imagined! Many songs written in times of war or economic hardship speak of crippling loneliness. And who can show better than Shakespeare the consequences of human love gone horribly awry?

This type of art unsettles us. It may take us places we would rather not go. But is it still beautiful? Is it still a gift? Not a gift of hope, always, but perhaps a gift of warning. And the beauty of a lesson wisely learned.

While art brings out of us our best feelings of love, hope and joy, it can also bring out our darker sides. Yet these are often sides we need to face, and sometimes only art can force it. Art does not need to be comfortable to be beautiful. It may be painful, but it is still divine. Don’t we all sometimes chafe at that which is divine!

The building blocks of art are the seeds through which the Creator works. An untended rose can still grow beautiful flowers. Likewise, beautiful art can sometimes spring from the minds of madness. So from the depths of despair can spring the most transcendent art.

Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Pathétique is often considered his greatest work. It would be his last. He took his own life days after its 1893 premiere. By this time the composer who gave us such light-hearted ballets as “Nutcracker” and “Sleeping Beauty,” had plunged into a deep despair. In the four movements of this symphony he writes something of an autobiography. The first movement invokes the turbulence of youth, with the mingling of two themes, one melodious and romantic, and the other violent. The second movement is a sweeping romance, though with an aspect of imagination, almost like the fairy tales he so often set. You get the feeling that this joy is incased in a dream, not reality. The third movement is a scurrying march: the success of life, though with fading joy. The final movement, the Adagio Lamentoso, is one of the most poignant, painfully tragic pieces in the entire orchestral literature. Here you feel the hopelessness of the composer, the desperate loneliness of the homosexual man in Nineteenth century Russia, for whom all the artistic success of his life seemed for naught. When he wrote it he must already have known that his life was ending.

Playing this work as a violinist in the symphony was one of the most transcendent musical experiences I have ever had. At the end of over forty-five minutes of music I am sweating in my tuxedo, my bow-tie bent out of shape by the violin I’ve been pressing into my neck. The power of this music is all the more powerful for having lived every note of it. And the finale reduces the other three movements to dust. The second theme of the final movement is a simple, four note descending scale from the tonic to the dominant. It is begun by the violins. At the end, the violins take up the theme again, lower on the instrument. The melody descends down to the very bottom of the violin’s range. The instrument runs out of notes just prior to the resolution of the melody. I yearn to play that note but I cannot. One note, that seems so simple, yet impossible. My instrument has gone as low as it can. The cello plays it, but that does not sooth my instrument’s longing. It brought tears to my eyes, there in the concert hall to feel Tchaikovsky’s despair, graphically written into the conclusion of the first violin part. It still brings tears to my eyes every time I listen to this movement.

I wonder how much joy, if any, Tchaikovsky felt from this piece. I wonder if he experienced any comfort from the Love which inspired him as he wrote his own requiem. But what he did with this work was to illustrate the despair of his life. It has inspired in me tremendous love, compassion, and even hope, the feeling the composer failed to win. In his despair, he gave the world a gift that far transcended his own life. The Pathétique was Tchaikovsky’s prayer. A prayer of desperation, sorrow, and yes, a prayer of love.

And this is the beauty, the transcendence of art, that human emotion can so affect, and be so affected! by art. That one man’s utter despair can give such a gift of beauty.

God has given us art, just as in his love he gave us all the other gifts of the world. In art, just as in nature, in our own bodies, and especially in our relationships with others of humanity, we reach toward the divine through the experience of the gifts given.

The Necessity of Dogma

The following is an article I wrote in 2004, and printed in issue #4 of Leben Magazine. It was written primarily in response to questions posed in the magazine about the classical dogma of the Trinity, and the eternity of hell. The question was raised whether there was any harm in exploring such questions. The following article was my response.

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The Christian faith is constantly evolving. Ever since the death of Jesus, His followers have had to decide amongst themselves, hoping for spiritual guidance, what truths would lead our religion. In recent times, questions again arise within Christianity itself about God’s true nature, the divinity and humanity of Christ, the permanence of hell, and the meaning of the Trinity. These are the same issues which challenged the church in the first few centuries as it was still developing its dogma. Some of today’s new ideas represent true visionary thought, while others represent heresy. Perhaps sometimes the church goes too far in stifling the tide, but if so, the visionary theologians of today are often equally rash in pushing forward ideas which may contain more danger than they know.

Bitter disputes arose in the first century between Paul and James and Peter regarding the direction the Church would take. Likewise, in writing their respective accounts at the end of the century, Thomas and John gave distinctive emphases to the gospel story.

Ever since the moment the Holy Spirit first enlightened the followers at Pentecost, there has been a tug-of-war between different factions of the faith. To this day, the faith continues to develop. Bold theologians push forward with new ideas, while the Church holds fast to tradition. Visionary thinkers often find themselves frustrated with the Church, and vice-versa. Thus a tension exists, and no doubt always will. Yet the dynamic shared by each side in this tussle of theologic push and pull is vital both for the preservation and the evolution of healthy and balanced Christianity.

EVEN TRUTH CAN LEAD TO UNFORESEEN RESULTS

Much has been discussed of late regarding not only old Christian doctrines such as the Trinity and the afterlife, but also about the Church’s role in protecting these doctrines and its own tradition. Much of the debate has focused on whether such doctrines are “true,” and the role occupied by the so-called “Orthodoxy Patrol” (perhaps too often viewed as a closed-minded antagonist.) The questions are intriguing. But the implications reach further. While the Church’s tradition and dogma are often accused of stifling truth, they deserve more credit. This is the body that brought the world forward for two thousand years.

Church leaders often get a bad rap, both in history books and in contemporary opinion. They are remembered in the past and seen in the present as dogmatists who refuse to admit to truth beyond their own narrow confines of thought. But I see this as a grossly unfair representation. Church leaders have been given their authority for one reason alone—to protect the faith of God’s people, threatened on all sides by wayward thought. Sometimes the threats come from within. Can we blame them for carrying out their charge so vigorously, even when occasionally crying Heresy! in vain?

The relationship between bold thinkers within the Church and its religious authorities has been a tense one for centuries. And while the free-thinking philosophers of any day possess a wealth of understanding, as well as a willingness to probe the depths of the world’s meaning, the tradition-minded theologians within the Church have an equally powerful ally on their side for the preservation of truth. That ally is the legacy of the bold thinkers of eras that have come before. For what establishment of doctrine has not been the result of bold thinking? From the original Apostles to the Council of Nicea, to the leaders of the Reformation, the men who codified our religious thought were bold thinkers of their times.

In retrospect, the Church has often been made to look silly by its rage over certain seemingly harmless issues. Especially when the very things it opposes, in time, become accepted either in church doctrine or in everyday life. Look, for example, at the conviction and imprisonment of Galileo (1564-1642), whose only “heresy” was to propose that the earth rotated around the sun! Galileo died excommunicated, and only in 1992 did the Catholic Church finally clear his name.

But while on the surface these actions seem absurd—for the Church was clearly wrong regarding the earth and sun, and Galileo right—the long-term consequences of their dispute are not as simple to judge. Galileo is remembered as a scientific pioneer. But what impact did his discovery, true as it was, have on faith? For in discovering a scientific truth, Galileo turned the key in a door of human thought which he never intended to open. Hindsight reveals that the fundamentalist “Orthodoxy Patrol” of his day actually possessed uncanny foresight, and perhaps even wisdom, in squelching his teachings.

The work begun by Galileo led within a century to Sir Isaac Newton’s theories of gravitation and matter. In his time, Newton (1642-1727) also incurred the wrath of the Church. Both these men were devout Christians within the denominations of their respective countries—Galileo an Italian Catholic, Newton an English Protestant. For both, their theories contained the intricate necessity of a creating God, and led to an expanded understanding of the divine. But with three centuries now between ourselves and them, it is easy to see why the Church was so afraid. Do not modern agnostics champion these two men of science as the forefathers of humanism? Whether they intended it or not, Galileo and Newton paved the way for the age of enlightenment and the secularization of the western world.

Would Newton be troubled by the places Voltaire and others took his theory? We cannot know. Newton was a bold thinker. Perhaps the illumination of the Christian world was in part his mission.

In these cases, though the bold thinkers were for the most part “correct” and the Church traditionalists “wrong,” the results of the Enlightenment which followed are more dubious. It cannot be denied that many individuals were lured away from God by the new theories of the Scientific and Natural world. Newton had no idea that his own “Newtonian” theory would lead to such secularism. But such was the result when men and women less brilliant than he embraced only the portion of his teaching they could understand.

If a principle like gravitation, in its misrepresentation, could deal such a blow to Christianity, how much more dangerous a threat to the Church are questions posed about the Trinity or the afterlife—the full truth of which we may not yet be privy to? Who can say but that full knowledge into these mysteries might similarly lead mankind down unintended paths whose ends we cannot see? Jesus did not give us completely clear pictures of these truths. Perhaps He only meant to show us what we needed to know.

The fruit of the tree of knowledge is indeed the curse of mankind.

To take an example from within the church, think of the legacy of Origen, the third century theologian. While none can doubt his devotion and holiness during his life, nor the reverence his immediate followers such as St. Basil and St. Gregory Nazianzen had for him, the doctrines, indeed, the heresies of so called Origenism, which later followers credited to him, caused the church to condemn much of his teachings. Among these were the ideas of universal salvation and a hierarchical Trinity. It is debatable whether Origen himself actually held these views.

The wisdom of men like Origen and Newton is not in question. Yet the church’s insistence on upholding its dogma against their new and bold ideas reflects a wisdom of foresight that might have saved many of the faithful from falling into error.

None of us will ever fully comprehend the mysteries not only of our world, but of the next. One truth out of context can prove very dangerous. Why else would Jesus have demanded, both in His words and by what He chose to reveal, such faith from His followers?

THE GLUE OF DOGMA

Christianity has survived the centuries in large part because of its consistency. If we examine the Church of any given era, it seems to be about a hundred years behind what would have then been considered modern thought. But this, in fact, reflects its wisdom. A religious body cannot afford lightly to espouse a trend. But once certain that a social or philosophical trend is indeed reflective of truth, then the Church usually, though perhaps reluctantly, follows. There will always be pressure from liberal Christians to push more rapidly for such changes, and this is good. Bold thinkers help the Church adapt to the times. Yet never must we forget that it is the glue of dogma that holds the Church together.

This constant struggle within the Church between bold thinkers and the conservative voice of orthodoxy is invisible to most of the faithful followers of Christ within the very Church where that struggle is continually taking place. Most men and women lack either the desire or the ability to think boldly about the faith they follow. But though the challenge of bold theology may fall mute on their ears, their contribution to the stability and solidarity of the Church is incalculable. Philosophy is not their gift. Yet through their obedience and mercy, they are far more integral to the body of Christ.

Some possess the gift of being able to fully explore the ideas of their beliefs. Others need to be given something to believe. They need rules to obey. Without doctrine, they would be lost. Dogma is not so much for men like Newton, Galileo and Origen, as for the men and women who do not need to know why, but who only want to do what is right. If the Church suddenly shook up its most basic tenets, a great disruption of faith would take hold of the masses. It would be dangerous for the Church, for instance, to begin teaching that the relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is much different than we have been taught. Though the doctrine of the Trinity might not be intrinsic to obedience, it is one of the most fundamental straws in the mortar that holds together the entire structure of Christianity. The Origens among us may be able to safely examine the subtle make-up of that straw. But for most, it is not worth the risk of seeing something they have always believed begin to crumble. Thus does the Church wisely and jealously guard such doctrines.

If someone proposes, therefore (as modern Gnostics are once again beginning to do) that Jesus was fully mortal or that the Holy Spirit is not on a level of equality with Father and Son, the Church must cry heresy. If in heaven we discover that the truth of the trinity contains depths and nuances we were unable to apprehend with our earthly understanding, the Church will still have done well by protecting the most important asset of God’s people which it is its charge to uphold—their faith.

If God had wanted us to understand the Trinity in full, Jesus would have stood on the mount and laid out its every detail. Instead, He told us what we needed to know: “I am in the Father and the Father is in me.” “And, I will send the Holy Spirit to be with you.” God wants us to exercise faith. There is no faith in mathematical or declared fact.

So while fundamentalist authority may continue to suppress bold thought, and even to an extent keep the Church behind the times, its most sacred mission is to give its people a framework of belief through which to live good lives. This was the mission of the Council of Nicea, and all the subsequent councils, even in the midst of occasional selfish and political motive. Sometimes it was with fear they kept the Church together, sometimes with promise of reward. But primarily it was by promoting love for God. Love does not require perfect understanding.

In the body of Christ there will always be bold thinkers and staunch dogmatists. Neither is the greater, and both are necessary, one for pushing Christianity forward, the other for holding it together. But greater than both is the multitude of the faithful and their own relationship with God. He will blame no one for failing to understand His mysteries. But whoever would cause one of the faithful to stumble shall surely face His wrath.

On Temptation

“The [devil] acts like a false lover, insofar as he tries to remain secret and undetected. For such a scoundrel, speaking with evil intent and trying to seduce the daughter of a good father or the wife of a good husband, wants his words and solicitations to remain secret. But he is deeply displeased when the daughter reveals his deceitful words and evil designs to her father, or the wife to her husband. For he easily infers that he cannot succeed in the design he began.

“In a similar manner, when the [devil] turns his wiles and persuasions upon an upright person, he intends and desires them to be received and kept in secret. But when the person reveals them to his or her good confessor or some other spiritual person who understands the enemy’s deceits and malice, he is grievously disappointed. For he quickly sees that he cannot succeed in the malicious projects he began, because his manifest deceptions have been detected.”

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So wrote St. Ignatius of Loyola in his Spiritual Exercises (#326, 1548). We often feel like the virtuous daughter and good wife of the parable, and are shy to reveal our temptations, making us more likely to succumb to them. But by exposing the tempter as an imposter, a false lover, we take away his might, and invoke the aid of our spiritual community.

St. Ignatius recommends the council of a good confessor, or other spiritual mentor, but we are often guilty of attempting to hide our temptations from God himself. Sometimes we are embarrassed to admit feeling tempted by certain sins. If we can face the temptation within ourselves, recognizing the potential for sin even without committing it, and praying for help in avoiding it, we have taken away the devil’s intended secrecy, and set ourselves on the road to virtue.

The women in the parable are embarrassed to admit the false lover’s advances to father and husband, but there should be no shame in revealing the danger. Otherwise, she is all alone. Similarly we will be alone against the devil unless we admit our temptation to our Heavenly Father. God cannot come to our aid until we ready ourselves for it. If we willingly listen to the seduction of sin, we block out God’s help. There is a thin line between ignoring temptation and actually desiring the sin. Sometimes in our human weakness we tread that line. By asking God for strength to resist, we make a pledge of intention. The temptation may persist, but we have made a clear preference for righteousness.

The current generation of Catholics have become somewhat lax in making confession. We take comfort in prayers of general contrition at mass, or perhaps fulfill our obligation by going to confession once a year. Many priests too, fail to stress the importance of confession with regard to anything less than mortal sin. But confession is more than an obligation, and it is more than a sacrament. Confession is also an opportunity for spiritual encouragement, where not only sins committed, but sins tempted, can be shared and prayed for. By bringing temptation before our confessor, we are like the woman of St. Ignatius’ parable, telling her father or husband about the false lover who is harassing her. The prayers of the priest and the aid of God confront the devil, taking away his secrecy and protecting the victim from his snares. An additional benefit to confessing temptations is that it gives an aspect of accountability. Who would want to have to admit to succumbing to a sin which the priest was diligently praying you would avoid? The shame alone would be sufficient penance.

So I would encourage you Christians not to be embarrassed and dismayed by temptation, but to confront it. Take away the devil’s secrecy by invoking the help of God. And do not shun the sacrament of penance, for it can give profound strength and encouragement, both to avoid sin and to avoid temptation, which is the near occasion of sin.

Charity in the Age of Labor

God created with an abundance of gifts for us, his creation. Whenever we show compassion. it is our gift back to God, who gave us everything. Any time we withhold compassion, we are selfishly hoarding the gifts which were meant for all.

Selfishness is the opposite of love. Love, through compassion and charity, is the cure to the pain of the world, selfishness is the poison that causes it. Selfishness is a denial of responsibility to our fellow creation and the Love which created us. Claiming the gifts and beauties of the world as human possessions, rather than a gift, leaves us no room for gratitude.

It is a great selfishness, not only to take the gifts of the earth with no gratefulness, but also to claim we need no one other than ourselves. It is also a tragic ignorance, which in the end will only lead to despair. Humanism hopes to prove the pointlessness of gratitude because we are the only ones to credit for the beauty around us. Through our knowledge and our work we convince ourselves that we have accomplished everything.

In this reflection I wish to focus on this idea of work and how it affects our efforts of love. The concept and the values associated with work have changed a great deal over the ages, and particularly since the Industrial Revolution. Work is seen as a virtue much more so than previously. For some of us, work has virtually become our god.

We have come away from the class model of the past into the age of labor. No longer does a person born in poverty necessarily face an entire life in that state. The poor of the world has much greater hope of rising to a higher social level. That hope is far from certain, but it is much different than in previous centuries. Immigration to the Americas has been a big part of this process. Usually those who immigrate fail to realize the hope in their lifetimes, but through hard work and education, their children achieve a better life. The common theme is work. In this age we believe that despite any hardship, through work, humans can rise from one class to another.

We take this principal for granted now, but it is so foreign to the model of the middle ages and the ancient world. Then, work was considered a hardship. If you had to work, you were looked down on by those lucky enough not to, and conversely, the workers revered the rich… lazy and fruitless as their lives may have been.

Work has now become one of our most admired virtues, and for good reason. By working we propel forward the whole of humanity. In the past the working class ran the machine that supported the lives of both rich and poor. Now, all are expected to pitch in and run the machine of society. It is an amazing act of teamwork and unity. Think of how many people are affected by the work you do. And when you sit in the comfort of your home, think of how many people’s labor supports you right then: the builder of your house, the electrician who wired it, those who run your water and sewer, those who supplied the food for your last meal… the list could go on and on until you realize that literally every worker in the world is in some way connected. Rather than complaining about the need to work, we should take joy in our chance to be a part of the great human machine. We do not work for wages so much as that the human machine may continue. Wages are simply the means through which our work and the work of others are coordinated.

Work is an act of love. In your effort to provide a service to another you are giving a gift of your talent, and in paying another for their labor, you in turn accept their gift of talent. It is an exchange of love, which we all too often disguise as an exchange of greed. The greatest greed is to willingly extricate oneself from this beautiful human machine, accepting the gifts of others yet giving none of our own gifts in return. So work with joy, in whatever you do, for by your work you are loving all those who with you spend their days in labor, and they, at the same time, are loving you.

The rise of the merchant class began to make the loving exchange of work more fair. So did the manufacturing boom of the late nineteenth century, which suddenly required huge quantities of human labor. For many years, manufacturing labor was only a small step ahead of slavery, but the difference was hope. And over time the middle class has become the dominant economic force in much of the world. No longer do the many labor for the comfort of the few.

Even those of us who complain about our work intrinsically know this principal. If we live in fair labor societies we are thankful for our work when we observe societies that have none. And we lack respect for those who do not work, choosing to live off the work of others. Certainly we would all prefer to do work we enjoy, or that which we feel best utilizes our creativity and talents, but we know that any work is better than depending solely on the work of others. (This is not to pass any judgement on those who may not work for wages, such as the parent who stays at home while the other works outside the home. There are many ways to work, and sometimes the work that does not trade in money is the hardest and most virtuous work of all!)

I have no patience for those who compute wage-earning to slavery. Many of the modern generation of middle-class Americans make this connection. How often do we hear someone say they are waiting to “find their path” or find work that “fulfills them,” while in the present they live off the work of others—their parents or other loved ones, the government, or simply charity. How quickly they will learn once they have a loved one depending on them, that that dependence is “their path!”

Much as we may sometimes complain about it, we all recognize the love of work and are thankful not to live in times or places where this exchange was not allowed. But where has this left the world’s poor?

Our elevation of the virtue of work has in some measure devalued in our minds the virtue of charity. In this age we have come to pass judgement on the poor. The beggar asking for alms in the plaza is seen as lazy. Why doesn’t he go out and work instead of taking from those who do? In our modern society we have already passed judgement on the beggar’s misfortune before we seek to know anything about him.

We look at history’s great advocates of charity and separate ourselves from their times. Certainly Buddha did great work for the poor, but he lived at a time when the poor were cut off from the wealthy for their whole lives. Jesus was an advocate of the unfortunate, but in a time of polarized economic classes and strong nationalistic prejudices. We can admire the work of St. Francis of Assisi, who though born with wealth sold all he had to give to the poor, but we separate ourselves saying the poor do not need our charity, but rather the justice of consequence, and the opportunity to rise.

In his first encyclical, Deus Caritas Est, Pope Benedict XVI touches on this issue which comes from the relationship between capital and labor in the fabric of society. Now that labor is the primary means of capital, we are reluctant to give capital (alms) without requiring work. And thus, charity is now often disregarded as a thing of the past.

With the fall of the class system, and the rise of greater social programs, affluent people often lose their feeling of obligation to help those in need. We can look at the example of Jesus or Buddha and respect their charitable work from a safe distance for, we will point out, at their times class determined wealth and poverty. Of course it was virtuous for the wealthy to have pity on the poor, for the wealthy did nothing to deserve their wealth, nor the poor their poverty. Now days, by contrast, wealth is associated with work, while poverty is associated with laziness. Few would admit feeling this way when put so point-blankly, but if we examine our hearts truthfully we will realize that this prejudice is so deeply rooted in our collective consciousness that we cannot escape it.

You may argue that it is often true! Perhaps you are right. But when did Jesus, Buddha, or any moral teacher tell us to be compassionate to those who deserved compassion? No, we are called to be compassionate toward all!

We think we only gained what we have through our labor, our own abilities, and we look down upon those who fail to work as hard. Perhaps we will send some money to a third world country to satisfy our conscience with the charitable work we are supporting, but do not ask us to help the poor in our own city. In giving them alms we fear to support their career of laziness, and teach them it is okay not to step into humanity’s machine of work. (Deus Caritas est)

This is our excuse and we put the teachers of charity safely in their historical context. But whoever does this has not really looked closely at the words of either Jesus or Buddha, neither of whom said flatly “give to the poor,” but rather, “give to those who need it,” or more profoundly, “give to those who ask.” Jesus makes no distinction in his call to charity. The same commandment is given to the rich man as to the slave. While the rich man is called to sell all he has and give to the poor (Matthew 19:21), the slave is told to work hard for his master! (Luke 12:43) Jesus’ message is no less pertinent in today’s age of labor than it was at the time he gave it.

How are we to know what led the beggar we spurn to his position today? And whatever the causes, who are we to judge? It is a fine line that separates us from him! Even if it is simply laziness, perhaps our generosity will be an inspiration to him. If we must judge him then we should also take it upon ourselves to help him grow to a better life. If we do not have the time or energy to help, then we must give of what we have—be it alms, or only a smile and warm greeting. This can do more good than we know.

There is a gross fallacy in the way we claim to our wealth as earned by our work—the sweat of our proverbial brow. It is the gift of those who came before us, who pioneered this age of labor that we now have the right to work for our own gain. In past centuries, unless you were one of the privileged few, you would have worked your whole life and never accumulated any wealth. So next time you feel so accomplished for the strides you have made in business, think of those who preceded you by a few short generations; think of their toil and the gift it was to you. I would warrant to guess, as hard as you may work, that they worked harder, in less comfort, with no personal gain but for the hope of their descendents. Make them proud by honoring their gift.

This brings us back to the points of selfishness and gratitude. Just as it is selfish and arrogant to ignore the one who gave us life, so it is wrong to claim our success as completely our own. Could we have lived such a life, and provided such change for future generations, as did these men and women, our own ancestors, who came before us? Their work is our gift. Our charity is our gratitude.

This age of labor, while giving us the chance to step into the human machine, realizing our dreams through work, has also equipped many of us with a “high horse,” with which we in clear conscience ignore the suffering of those around us. Work is love, but with work we must not ignore the other forms love takes, or our obligation to ease suffering by sharing the beauty which was so freely given to us.

I am as guilty as anyone at sometimes resenting those who do not work; but though I wish to teach the value of work to those who do not understand it, that is no excuse to forego compassion. I have used the example of giving alms to beggars as our way of sharing our gifts with those less fortunate, but this is simply the easiest, though least useful way we can help those in need. By sharing of ourselves we will benefit the lives of the needy in a much more profound way. If we complain that we do not have the time, then give alms. If we complain that the beggar does not deserve alms, then give time. But whatever you give, give love.

Heed, therefore, the call to charity, even while you follow your drive to work. I doubt Jesus or Buddha would have taught any differently on how we should respond to poverty if they were here today than they did thousands of years ago. The Pope’s encyclical, while pointing out our era’s aversion to charity, directed his challenge primarily to religious charitable organizations. Of course in his position he must issue this challenge, yet the work of charitable organizations do not get us off the hook, no matter how much we may support and donate to them. The work of charity is everyone’s job, to be done whenever and wherever the need is presented to us. We have a responsibility to our maker, a responsibility of compassion for everyone who shares with us the beautiful image of God.

How can we presume to think that we deserve the gifts we have been given? Do we deserve what we have more than the beggar we worked to avoid? Do I, born in the excessively affluent United States, deserve the right to work for wealth and comfort more than one born in a country which grants not this freedom and opportunity? Do we even deserve our sobriety more than the man addicted to drugs or alcohol? How close could I be, with his opportunities, to where he is, or he me? How many degrees of separation really exist between us?

And what if I should fall into a state of poverty, ill-health, drunkenness or insanity? Would I not long for compassion? Or if not something so extreme, perhaps we simply need to feel the kindness of another human heart. Where will others be, unless we showed compassion to them? Who will come to us in our need if we never came to the aid of others? Charity should not have to be a loan, but we will certainly find more willing donors of it if we gave it freely when we had the chance.

Compassion and love take practice, but they are more fulfilling by far than those who do not practice them realize. By exercising kindness to the community of humanity we are in fact being more true to our natures than if we did not. The Dalai Lama says “that basic human nature is more disposed toward compassion and affection. Basic human nature is gentle, not aggressive or violent.” (The Good Heart, chap 2) We will feel more true to ourselves if we practice this goodness. It takes a greater effort to withhold love than it takes to give it. Our natures are loving, so why do we so reluct to behave thus?

To conclude the present reflection, while work is one of our greatest acts of love, and the means by which we enter the communal effort of humanity, we must pass no judgement on those who, for whatever reason, do not work. If it is by laziness, their judgement will come from within, not from our lack of compassion. If anything, our compassion can help them to achieve a better state. Our work is a gift to humanity, but our ability to work is a gift to us, so we have no right to grasp it as our own. Only by giving can we truly possess.

Let them know we are Christians by our Love

If the world were asked to describe Christianity in one word, what might it choose? Some of the possibilities sting our ears. It might describe Christianity as intolerant, outdated, hypocritical, or any other number of unflattering things. While this cannot surprise us, for we were never promised the esteem of the world, it is cause for some concern. Ideally, the one word would be love.

The current era has pitted us between the world in numerous ways. Morality itself is at stake as Christian values struggle against today’s culture of freedom, where all manner of behavior is excused by claiming it is one’s “right” to do whatever they wish. The Christian counters with the morality by which God has commissioned us to live. Yet so often we allow it to be a political and social struggle as the world compels us to fight it with its own rules. If instead, we could show the world the love which leads us to believe as we do, the evangelism of our values would carry much greater weight. A victory is much more valuable if won in the heart of man, than if won in the courts and legislature. If we can convert the hearts of society. There will no longer be a need to fight in the courts and legislature.

If we wish to change the hearts of men and women in our time, we must appeal to their most basic desire, and humanity has no greater desire than love. So much of what we do is aimed toward achieving love. Even many common sins of today’s culture of freedom are geared toward a perverted view of love. If the world could see an answer to this desire, and witness the example of those who had found it, what further need would people have to chase their selfish and depraved goals?

Is love not the only reason we are Christians? God’s love created us. Jesus’ love was our example. Our love for one another leads us on. Everything within Christianity boils down to love. The expected reward of God’s love is so great that we willingly follow the way of the cross in hopes of his everlasting embrace. By opening our hearts in love toward our neighbors, we feel God’s embrace even now. The world needs to see this. There should be a discernible difference between an interaction with a Christian and an interaction with a non-Christian. They must know we are Christians by our love, our compassion and our charity. Then perhaps they might wonder why we believe what we do, and be intrigued to learn more. Our social and political activism will carry much more weight once the world recognizes us by our love.

At present, the world views us as intolerant. While we rightly fight against injustice in our society, if we do it not in love, we will be seen as nothing more than another political lobby. We have often fallen into this trap. Thus, the world has come to perceive Christian views on social issues such as sexual liberation and abortion as a dogmatic restriction of freedom. In reality, we believe such things because of love. Our opposition to full sexual liberation rises out of our reverence for the love of marriage, not out of a hatred for those who do not desire it. Our opposition to abortion comes from a respect and love for all human life, not a dishonor for the rights of women. To a Christian, abortion is not an issue of women’s rights, but an issue of our love for the unborn. If love is complete, it is inconceivable to kill a helpless life to avoid taking responsibility for one’s actions. It is not a dogmatic decree, but a natural extension of the love of Christ. If the world understood the love at the root of our views, it would be much more receptive to hearing them. St. Augustine reminds us that all of God’s commandments are embraced in love. (Enchiridion. 121) If the world could see us living this truth in our lives, it might be more attracted by the commandments. The world should be made to wonder at us? It should surprise them that we choose to follow Christ when a creed of freedom and personal satisfaction seems much more enticing. Why have we chosen the harder path despite all the pressure that tries to pry us away? The reason is that we know God’s love satisfies in a way which nothing else can. The companionship of Jesus is steadfast, through our suffering and our joy. We are motivated to follow his commandments because they are embraced by love.

Jesus is the proof of God’s love. By becoming one of us, God shows us that he is more than the omnipotent creator, the master and judge of the universe. He is also our friend, our companion, and the sharer of our suffering. By laying aside the glory and power of heaven, emptying himself into the helpless embryo of a yet-unborn baby, and then experiencing the joys and sorrows of life from the vulnerable perspective of humanity, including its very lowest moments, Divine Love not only shows itself, but proves itself, in the person of Jesus. As Christians we believe in a God who loves us so much that he would come down to show us the way to salvation by example, not just by law. This is the remarkable and unique aspect of Christianity. The world hears us trumpeting the law. But love fulfills the law.

Life is hard. We are all acquainted with suffering. Some of us have suffered physically, others emotionally, and some of us suffer from afflictions we have created and brought on ourselves, but we have all suffered in some way. Humanity has this in common. Our suffering is tempered by love. Nothing is as precious to us, or as worth the suffering, as love. The world’s misguided quest for love is often the cause of its greatest suffering, because the world seeks love through selfishness. If love is selfish then it is not truly love and gives more pain than joy. Love must first be given if it is to be received with its full beauty and power. This is not an intuitive concept for our selfish society, built on the idea of immediate gratification. The failure to understand this basic way in which love operates is the cause for much of the world’s misery. It is also the simple answer given by the Christian message.

God desires love just as badly as we do. Does scripture not tell us that God was lonely? Because of tremendous love, and tremendous desire for love, God emptied himself into a man and died upon a cross to show his solidarity with us. Jesus’ life was a life of love. He loved everyone with whom he came in contact, and he never asked for reciprocation, yet two thousand years of thankful hearts have reciprocated his love.

This is the way to love. We must give ourselves if we are ever to receive. Like Jesus, we must give without expectation of receiving anything in return. Only once we love that much, will we find the contentment we seek, and show the world the truth of what we preach. Everyone you meet presents you with the opportunity to spread the message of Christ. Love everyone with your whole heart, despite their faults, deformities, arrogance, and sin. Commit your heart to true compassion for the suffering of those around you, and be generous in charity. If the world sees you living a life of love, compassion and charity, they will wonder about the source of your hope. When they see the truth of Christ’s love in your life, only then will they listen to your creed. But if they do not see you love, they will never listen. Love is the beauty of Christianity, and the reason we follow it despite whatever persecutions may come our way. Jesus gave the purest example of love the world has ever known, and continues to sooth us with a love more comforting than anything else we know.

We are capable of loving only because God first created us out of love. When we love, we are acting as the love of God toward others, and when we receive love, it is God’s love, working through others. “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.” (1 John: 4:16). The Beloved Disciple’s first letter encapsulates the reason why we follow all the laws and the difficult paths of Christianity. The promise of love which John describes, is so sublime that it is worth all the sacrifice, all the ridicule, all the pain. It is worth even death. In another place Paul tells Timothy that the reason for the law and instruction is love (1 Tim: 1:5). The reason, even, for all of creation, is simply love!

“Beloved, God is Love. Since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another.” (1 John: 4:11). This is the reason we are Christians. This love is the reward for which we hope. The world despises Christianity because it only looks at the rules, not at the reward promised for following those rules. The fault is on us, the Christians who preach the rules instead of the promise, and follow the rules just enough to feel assured of our heavenly reward, when if we followed them completely, our reward would be ours already. God’s promised reward is so sublime. We should be eager to show it to the world.

Our eternal life does not begin at death. Our eternal life has already begun! We show it by living to share the love God has poured out on us. Let us approach the world with the motivation that someday when our secular society is asked to describe Christianity in one word, that word will be love.

5: Community

This is the final chapter in HUMANÆ DESIDERIÆ, a philosophical inquiry into human longing. The earlier chapters can be viewed here:

1: Perception & Reality
2: Human Desire
3: The Nature of Truth
4: Morality

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Morality is truly our path to lasting joy, through the good we do toward one another. Through the principles of community we see that by doing good for others, by extension, we are doing good for ourselves. Yet we do not always take seriously just how important the good of our community is to each one of us.

The community of the human race, as we have seen, is the primary thing that validates our own reality. Without the interaction of others, we lose a grasp on ourselves. We truly need one another on a very basic level. Humanity has a great fear of being alone. Other than death, this may be our greatest fear, and indeed, much of our fear of death is connected to the fear of loneliness. Since the beginning of our history we have sought one another in community.

Companionship has been vital to the survival of our race. From the intimate (marriage, family) to the local (clan, tribe, or in modern times, co-workers and groups of friends) to the national and finally global levels, we rely on one another for success, and we expect others to behave in predictable ways. Part of this network comes from our acceptance of moral law. The reality is that we need one another. Our lives are intertwined in a fantastic and beautiful framework. Think of how we count on the work that others do, even as they count on our own work. The community of our groups and cities and globe work so smoothly that we take it for granted. But if one chain is broken, chaos ensues, leading to strikes, riots, famine, and war.

From this perspective, our work—our participation in the community of our world, is perhaps our most basic act of love. By providing our talents to the community, we give a gift, and accept the gift of another. It is a simple exchange of love. On a personal level, companionship is one of our greatest comforts, and the loss of it is a dreadful fear. We value our families and friends, even our mere acquaintances so much and greatly bemoan their loss. If other people are this important to us, then it must be recognized that the good of the community equates directly to our own good. We recognized earlier that love is the greatest of all human desires. Ironically, it is one desire which we cannot possibly achieve on our own. Love necessitates another. And only by giving love do we begin to receive love. Thus, the ability to give, the inclination toward unselfishness is the only way to come into possession of our greatest desire.

Because of our great dependence on love, we are necessarily a community people. Community provides both accountability and the opportunity to love. My acts of love benefit the community, and the community has tremendous power to refresh and renew me. This is true at every level of relationship, from the intimate to the global. With a spouse or lover, love is never complete until both parties give equally of themselves to the other. In the offering of oneself, love can be fulfilled. In friendship, nobody will put up with a friend only interested in himself. One must offer friendship before it can be reciprocated. In the community, this trade takes the form of compassion. We are all in the community of humanity together. If one person suffers, the rest must recognize that fact with compassion. In many cases, the suffering of the unfortunate can be directly traced to the selfishness of the fortunate. In our compassion and in our charity, we should recognize that we could just as easily be on the other side of the relationship. There is a thin line between those who need charity and those who give it. And the forces that may hold us in the more prosperous place are extremely fickle.

If we resent giving charity now, when we are able, who will be there to help us when we are thrown into poverty or despair? Compassion and charity are two way streets, even though our place may often seem to be only on one side or the other. Our whole lives may be spent on only one side of the street, but we never know. Things can change quickly. If we have lived selfishly, who will have sympathy for us in our need? If we do not give charity when we are able, who will give us alms when we are compelled to beg?

In every sense, love must be given if it is to be received. With individuals, our love is reciprocated with companionship and comfort. In the larger community, love is displayed through charity and compassion.

If our longing is fulfilled by giving love, then equally important is being able to open ourselves up to receive the love of others. Our pride often makes us reluctant to accept the very love which we know will satisfy our longing. If we are not able to accept love when it is given to us, we are doing all the work without claiming the reward. Learning to accept charity, generosity, and love can be hard, but the reward is wonderful. In no other way can we come closer to fulfilling our transcendental desires here on earth. In no other way can we fully experience the beauty which we seek so fiercely, than in love. Love is communion— it cannot be experienced alone. It exists between friends, lovers, or even strangers who treat each other with goodness and charity. Love is void without another to share it.

An example of the necessary give and take of charity was when Jesus washed the feet of his friends. In the culture of that time, a teacher would never have done this for his disciples. Peter’s response of “Lord, you will never wash my feet!” is what we would expect them all to say. This would have really been quite a scandal. But Jesus did this for two specific reasons: first, to show them that to be great in love, one must offer loving service to others. Secondly, as he told Peter, you must be able to accept the love which is offered to you. “You call me Teacher and Lord,” he told them, “and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13: 13-15) Nor was even Judas, his betrayer, excluded from the love of foot-washing. If Jesus could do such a service for the one whom he knew would betray him to his death, should we not also be able to do such a service for one another? Community is truly the give and take—the two way street—of love, generosity and charity.

What does religion mean in the context of community? Religion offers us a community of people, sharing love, and holding one another accountable as they strive to follow a shared morality. Religion recognizes how the morality we discussed in the previous chapter benefit both the individual and the whole. Without the structure of religion, and the support of the community, it is easy for one to lose track of the moral code which this group has recognized as the method of achieving our transcendental desires. Accountability and community are the fundamental reasons for the importance of religion. It may be possible to follow the path of love and charity, and to point ourselves toward our divine aspirations without religion, but it is far more difficult.

Through the shared principles of morality within religion–and the greatest of all morals is love— religion has become a vessel of charity in the world. The very first Christian writer, St. Paul, identified charity as one of the pre-eminent tasks of the church as an institution. “As you excel in everything,” he told the Corinthians, “so we want you to excel also in this generous undertaking.” He commends the Macedonian church for “voluntarily giving according to their means, and even beyond their means.” (II Corin. 8:3,7). The church of the immediately succeeding centuries well understood the place of charitable works in the very validity of the church. During the persecution in the Third Century of Christians in Rome, Deacon Lawrence was ordered to hand over all the treasure of the church to the authorities. Lawrence distributed all the church’s funds to the poor and then presented the poor themselves as the real treasure of the church. (St. Ambrose: De officiis ministrorum. II, 28, 140)

In the first days of Christianity, charity was fundamental to life as a follower of Jesus. We are told that they lived for awhile in an ideal community, for “there was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.” (Acts 4:34-35). Christianity has not changed so much since that time. Our community is larger, but we are still compelled to live with love and charity toward those who share this name. As the centuries have unfolded, organized charity has become one of the fundamental works of a church body. Thus did the Catholic Church establish the first hospitals and the first orphanages in the world. And today it takes a leading role in disaster relief, and the effort to ease hunger in the world.

Pope Benedict XVI, in Part II of his encyclical, Deus Caritas Est, gives strong and challenging support to those working in charitable organizations under the name of the Church, following the first example of the apostles, that “all who believed were together and had all things in common.” (Acts 2:44). By these words it is inconceivable to selfishly hold back charity from those in our community. His predecessor, Pope John Paul II makes a clear distinction between the work carried out by the community as a whole (charitable organizations), which involves “larger tasks, requiring cooperation and the use of technical means, [and] no less valuable–individual activity, especially by people who are better prepared for it in regard to the various kinds of human suffering which can only be alleviated in an individual or personal way.” (Salvifici Doloris, VII, 29). While a community (the church) has an intrinsic role in, to use John Paul’s definition, “the work of human solidarity,” we must each be equally prepared to give our love at a moment’s notice when it is called for, in the same way that we would hope for others to give it in our own time of need.

Love is the greatest desire of our hearts. Every person with whom we share the human condition is a potential vessel of love. We can unlock this love through a vigilance of compassion, readying ourselves for charity whenever and wherever the need arises.

But although love is our greatest human desire, a blessing we value even more than life itself, our search for it so often leaves us empty. Even if we are diligent in the love we give, vigilant in compassion, and generous with the charity we offer to those in need, we may not be reciprocated the love we desire. Without a hope for a life beyond, even these virtues can lead us to despair. But by believing in a God who created us out of love, we hope that our death will bring us into a perfect experience of love, and a perfect community which we will share with all the saints.

Yet even on earth, where the reward of virtue is unfairly skewed, love, charity and compassion are the closest answers we will find to achieving our transcendental desire. There truly is no substitute for the comfort and companionship of human love, and the camaraderie of a caring community. No other of our dreams and ambitions find satisfaction in as tangible a way as love. Without love, religion is vain. Without love, life is vain.

IN CONCLUSION

To conclude the present inquiry, we have seen that whether speaking in science or philosophy, we must continually remember that ultimately our discussion must relate to what is real. We know what is real through our perceptions and our interactions with those who share in the community of humanity. Through this knowledge, and through the scientific principles of evolution and physical symmetry, we can be sure that our transcendental desires such as hope and love, may also be treated as real. Thus it is not foolish to have a hope for something greater than our present experience.

We have looked at the relationship between faith and truth, understanding that the two must embrace one another, whether in religion, philosophy or science. Indeed, the present distancing of the three fields named is the work of recent times, and ideally, the three must be linked if any is to succeed. Faith is to truth what theory is to experiment. Our faithful search for truth leads us to believe that there is such a thing as absolute truth, whether or not we will find it in this life, and this knowledge leads us to believe in a moral law.

The efforts we have made to experience pleasure and beauty have left us unfulfilled. By breaking the morality we so often despise, we end up more despairing than before. Only by practicing morality, and entering into the communion of love, do we find satiation for our desire.

Whether morality is given only by religion, or is learned through culture and our observance of the long term good of the community, it cannot be argued that morality is good for humanity as a whole. And this necessitates our respect for community. On all levels of relationship, from the intimate to the global, the community of other human beings is vital to our success, and the closest we may come to achieving our transcendental desires in this life. Through love we see that the only way to gain our greatest desire, is first to give. This may be considered morality at its most basic level. The reciprocation of love is our closest experience to heaven on earth. Yet even human love so often disappoints, leading us to sorrow and despair. Thus, we are promised that our love will be reciprocated, that the life beyond holds a greater promise of love than we can possibly imagine. The answer to all our transcendental desires waits in the loving embrace of God.

4: Morality

This is the fourth of five chapters in HUMANÆ DESIDERIÆ, a philosophical inquiry into human longing.

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Our reflection now forces us to ask, if there is such a thing as truth, then is there a moral absolute? In today’s world, morality is often viewed as something promulgated by religion, and thus its concept, in word at least, is written off in favor of what is perceived as freedom. Yet only the utterly lawless and perverse actually dispense morality from their lives. Even void of religion, morality’s value to a social structure and good personal health is valued.

For this reason, as humanism spread through the western world, many feared what the reduction of religion would lead to. Voltaire, even after rejecting religion for himself, continued to encourage Christianity amongst his servants, fearing lest the loss of Christian morals would diminish their respect for his authority. Clearly, even Voltaire understood that humanism is intrinsically selfish, while Christianity, and by connection—religious morals, are intrinsically unselfish. It was well enough for Voltaire to believe in a selfish creed, but he recognized that social structure would not allow everyone to live selfishly.

In modern times, some scientists who have themselves rejected religion, admit fearing the results if the full extent of their teachings—that being the non-existence of God and by extension, all religious truth—is accepted by the masses. In a conversation recorded by Werner Heisenberg, he quotes another esteemed young physicist Wolfgang Pauli, who fears lest “Western culture come to the point at which the parables and images that religion has used up to now are no longer convincing, even for simple folk; and then, I fear, traditional morality will also very rapidly break down, and things will happen that are more frightful than anything we can yet imagine.” (Heisenberg: Physics & Beyond: Encounters & Conversations. 1969, p. 295). The fallacy shared by Voltaire and Pauli is that they advocate a different truth for the learned than for the masses. By such an admission something is necessarily lacking in the truth they profess. The Christian view of the world, by contrast, presents a truth valid for all walks of life, all social stations, and all levels of intellect.

An alternate view of morality would be that it is antecedent to religion: that religion developed in history as a method of containing the morality, the innate sense of right and wrong, which humanity has ingrained in the depths of our very being. By this view, even if we were to disband all religion, there would still be a sense of right and wrong within each of our hearts, preventing society from spiraling into chaos. This would no doubt prove comforting to Wolfgang Pauli.

Interestingly, this is not far off from what Judaism and Christianity profess. Religion, if you will, did not come into the world until the time of Abraham, yet God ingrained right and wrong into the first man and woman, and long before Abraham’s time deemed it necessary to punish those who strayed from it. And so we can all agree that religion did indeed come into the world as a tool for containing morality. The only difference is that the atheist believes it was done to regulate social behavior, while the religious believe it was handed down by God.

C. S. Lewis uses the ingrained moral sense as his primary argument for the truth of religion. The law of human nature, he rightly claims, appeals to an understood sense that it is right to do good to others, and wrong to do them harm—to put it even simpler, unselfishness is better than selfishness. (Mere Christianity, chap 1, 1943). This ingrained sense, argues Lewis, is proof of God’s hand in the makeup of every human being. Though this argument is intriguing, on its own it comes up short, for the unselfishness of doing what is right rather than wrong is vital for any functioning society. Anybody in a position of authority, whether a king, or even Voltaire with his servants, would have the motivation to promote this “law of human nature” as the just social order. When this order breaks down, so does society. In primitive social structures, morality could even have existed simply as a tool of survival, where humans knew their success depended on cultivating the companionship and respect of others. Thus it would be beneficial to do good to others, so as to gain the protection of the group in time of trial. As such, morality can be seen as much to be a learned law as an ingrained natural sense.

If the sense of right and wrong were a true law of nature, we would see its evidence in the smallest of children, but this is not the case. Indeed, a baby, though we do not blame it, is by nature the most selfish of creatures. It cries and scolds for what it wants and becomes indignant when it does not get its way. Even as it begins to grow, the child learns its first morality by desiring to avoid punishment. Only over the years do they learn to live by a principal of unselfishness for its own sake. If the child grew to adulthood completely uninfluenced by society and religion, would an unselfish morality ever be learned? By God’s mercy we may hope it would, but by the evidence of our observation, we cannot be sure that an unselfish nature would necessarily prevail. Previously I argued that the transcendental longing within us, that which strives for love, and an answer beyond this life, is ingrained within our makeup, thus necessitating its being treated as real. Though a sense of right and wrong often leads one in this same direction, it is more difficult to argue that it is written into our very makeup in the same way, based on our observation of children. Even children who know not right from wrong have a fantastic and transcendental imagination.

Even in society, where morality benefits the group as a whole, this law is not necessarily intuitive. The human will is naturally more disposed toward selfishness, seeking comfort and pleasure at the expense of others. The Bible gives us several examples of early humanity’s failure to incorporate morality. Before sending the flood, “The Lord saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was evil.” (Genesis 5:5) Later on, when he looked at the wicked cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, The Lord said “How very grave is their sin!” (Genesis 18:20) To Abraham, God gave religion, and from him it spread through the world, because God saw how humanity tended away from moral law without the structure of religion. So although, even free from religion, we can see how morality benefits society, history’s example shows that we are still more inclined toward selfishness unless a moral law is given. Religion provides this law.

Whether morality is an ingrained sense, a learned law, or a tool of survival, its value would be foolish to argue. However we believe it came into humanity, and whatever it might tell us about God, the simpler reality is that over time, doing good will have a better result for the individual and the society than doing ill. Even the most selfishly oriented individual, if wise with foresight, can see that some unselfishness must be incorporated in his actions if he is ever to achieve his selfish goals. If an individual never exercises right toward his fellows, his subsequent isolation will torture all his selfish intent.

Modern society values freedom more than anything else. Morality is often seen as an obstruction to freedom, religion as an enemy of pleasure. But truly what religion is attempting to convey is that morality, while restricting some freedoms in the short term, prevents one from becoming a slave to pleasure later on. Further, the individual freedoms, and individual quests for pleasure that we have come to value, has caused much of the pain and chaos of the world. Truly, we cannot all achieve a complete and equal freedom. If I wish to be free from work, yet still live in society, another person will necessarily need to work harder. If I wish always to be free from hunger, another person will be hungry. Morality is a code of action designed to put the good of others ahead of the good of ourselves. Thus, morality is not a concept which can be discussed in an individual vacuum, but requires others besides ourselves to make it complete. Morality deals with a community, and our knowledge that the good of the community is by extension the good of ourselves. To steal is good for me, but bad for the community. I avoid the immoral act of theft because I know that the break-down in social order and trust, resulting from my action will be a net negative on me as well. Similarly, my laziness forces another to work harder, and my greed takes double the blessing I need rather than sharing with one who has none. These actions are detrimental to the community as a whole.

We must always keep in mind as we seek a life of freedom and pleasure, that there are those whose freedom and pleasure is restricted. More often than not, it is the selfishness that hoards all the good we can for ourselves, and are loath to share it with those who have less, which places this restriction upon the blessings of others. There is so much good in our world, so much to give pleasure in full to everyone, but by those who are able hoarding it from those who cannot gain it, either through power and might, or simply by selfishness, we pervert the good of the world. Freedom and pleasure can become an addiction to us, where the more we have, the more we desire, never gaining contentment, and only further isolating those who have not from those who have.

We have come into a culture that attempts to move on from morality by claiming that freedom is the greatest value to be achieved. People now behave in depraved and abominable ways, justifying it by claiming it is their “right” and their “freedom” to do whatever gives them pleasure. In primitive and oppressive societies the strong have freedom and the weak have none. Yet modern culture has created, on a smaller scale, the same dichotomy. Unless freedom is enjoined with other principals, it becomes meaningless, and what the capable call freedom, the weak call oppression.

Morality is often looked upon as a restriction, but that is to miss its essence. Truly, morality is a guide to greater freedom, greater enjoyment of life, and greater love. Immoral deeds, those things which go against our understood natural moral law, may bring pleasure in the short term, but leave us sadly unfulfilled after the deed is done. Think how the pleasure of food, when leading to the immoral behavior of gluttony, brings far more displeasure through loss of health and energy than the pleasure of the taste brought in the beginning. Or think of how immoral sexual acts complicate our lives and relationships, and can also prove detrimental to our health in ways which sex housed in pure and moral love do not. Momentary experiences of pleasure so often lead to despair in the consequences.

God did not give us moral law to test us, but because he loves us and knows with his perfect foresight, how much happier we will be in the future if we practice morality now. Morality is a law of love. In the words of St. Augustine, “all of God’s commandments are embraced in love.” (Enchiridion. 121). Moral law gives two gifts: the gift from God to us with the ordered method for our own happiness, health, and peace, and the gift from us to our neighbors to think of their good before our own.

Let us now return to the question which opened this chapter: does our understanding that truth is real lead us to the necessity of a moral absolute? Can our transcendental desires which, if incorporated into the symmetry of existence, lead us to a knowledge of right and wrong? And if we accept morality, must we also accept a religious creed? What an honest examination of freedom and pleasure shows us is that morality is even more basic than religious structure itself. Biblical history shows us the same thing, that morality was established in the world prior to religion. Religion gives a framework for morality. But it gives something else as well. It answers the question of why. Why is it good to be unselfish? Why is it good to be loving and charitable? Why is virtue to be admired? Religious morality is the road map to the achievement of our transcendental desires. We can see how unselfishness toward our neighbor today can benefit us tomorrow. In Christianity, we are told how it can be true on a much larger scale.

The greatest pleasure we can possibly hope for is love. As we have already seen, love is more important to us than life itself. In Christianity we are told that our God not only loves us, but in fact is love! By practicing unselfish morality, we are acting with love toward others. Even in a purely atheistic society, it is easy to see how giving love is the only way to get love. Yet by believing in a God who is love, we are assured that the reward for our present love and compassion for one another will be to share in a great heaven of love.

We have looked at how morality benefits not only the community, but us by extension. Why, then, are we so intent on our selfish desires?

So much of our immorality comes from an insatiable desire within each one of us for beauty. It is not enough for us to see beauty in the world, appreciate it, and enjoy our place in it. We feel the need to grasp it, to own it, and fulfill it with what we know as pleasure. Much of the pain in the world comes through this selfish pursuit for beauty and pleasure by some, at the expense of others. Pleasure is a manifestation of the beauty and love of the world through experience. Pleasure is a wonderful thing, and it is well for us to desire it. Yet our perversion of it throughout the ages has given pleasure a bad name. We have come to misinterpret both the meaning of pleasure and our desire for it. The world is so beautiful it would be absurd to suggest that we are not meant to appreciate it. The danger is that we might become so addicted to our pleasure that we seek it even at the expense of those around us. It is in the over-indulgence of pleasure, and in our obstinate quest for it that we, in selfishness and disdain for the good of others, pervert the beauty of the world.

We are meant to enjoy the things which give pleasure to our hearts and bodies. The joy that is brought from well-earned pleasure is a wonderful blessing, but we only feel the reward if we also seek to share that joy with others. As long as we seek the good of others along with ourselves, pleasure will never become corrupt. This is living by the moral law discussed earlier. Invariably, the good of the whole will also be good for me. Some religious leaders have given up their own pleasures for the sake of their ministry, often thinking that sacrificing all pleasure is the truest path to righteousness. But personal gratification need not be forsaken, only subordinated to the gratification of others. If we are only thinking of ourselves, then our desire for excesses can bring great harm both to the community, and by extension, to ourselves.

All of our pleasure and desire springs from our love for good and beautiful things. But when we seek to possess the beauty around us rather than just appreciating it, we allow our desire to overwhelm us, and it kills the beauty we loved. In everything we must keep mindful that beauty is a gift from God, not just to us individually, but to all. Thus, we would do well to share with those around us. Quoting again the venerable Bishop of Hippo, “All the good that you love is from the Creator, but unjustly is it loved if God be forsaken for it!” (St. Augustine: Confessions, IV, 18) Let us strive to enjoy the gifts of the world without letting our addiction for their beauty take hold.

Addictions are usually thought of in terms of substance abuses. Once the addict has tasted a little, they desire more and more, and will never be content, no matter how much of it they have. But even if we do not struggle with such vices as drugs and alcohol, we should honestly face our addictions for the pleasures of beauty, experience, possessions, even acclaim and success. Few of us can deny having felt the addictive influence of all of these. These are the desires of our senses. The longing for more… never feeling content… this is the addiction. Have you ever eaten food for which you had no hunger, only because it was there? Or have you bought something you did not need, because you saw it and suddenly wanted it? Or have you found someone attractive and suddenly felt an intense desire to know them sexually? What are such longings if not addictions?

Such desires drive us constantly to be fulfilled, when it is really only the quest itself that brings us any glimpse of happiness. The pleasure fades as soon as the experience is over. Thomas Merton wrote, “The earthly desires men cherish are shadows. There is no true happiness in fulfilling them. Why then do we continue to pursue joys without substance? Because the pursuit itself has become our only substitute for joy. Unable to rest in anything we achieve, we determine to forget our discontent in a ceaseless quest for new satisfaction. In the pursuit, desire itself becomes our chief satisfaction.” (The Ascent to Truth, 1951)

How then, can we hope to fulfill our desire for pleasure, and the acute human longing for beauty and love, if not in these ways?

For the answer we must look at another type of desire which we all have felt. We are so addicted to our selfish desires that we forget the joy we get from unselfishness, and even the desire we have for the joy it brings. Have you ever labored to prepare the perfect gift for a loved one, or given such a gift to a child at Christmas? How eagerly you anticipated the look of joy on their faces! Think of a time when you may have brightened the life of a person in despair, be it from poverty, age, weakness of body or depression of mind. The smile returned from such a person is a joy unparalleled by the fulfillment of any selfish desire. The practice of charity and compassion is one of the greatest experiences of the world’s beauty.

Morality may sometimes seem difficult, but the reward is great. If indeed moral law was given to us by God, then we should trust that God knew what was best for us, and that our greatest pleasure comes from following the very law under which we reluctantly chafe.